Raison d'Etre
by bitcheslovewaltzing
Summary: In the cold reaches of a little mountain town, Cartman clings to his raison d'etre to avoid a reality with which he cannot cope. But soon he'll be forced to face reality and things may never be the same.
1. Barrier

Chapter 1: Barrier

Before he had a chance to realize it, Eric Cartman had been tossed to the ground like a rag doll, the fall of his husky frame cushioned by gratuitous amounts of snow and fat. Two fists flew into his face, one right after the other, refusing to stop even for Cartman's grunts of pain and choked back sobs. He could feel tears falling from his attacker's face, chilled by the winter air before they mixed with the blood that was now streaming down Cartman's face; only God knew from where he was bleeding.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" his attacker screamed.

Cartman couldn't help smiling at the sound of his voice. Even when he was pissed, he sounded lovely. The voice continued to ring in his ears, increasing in intensity, until finally the world went dark.

Three months ago, things had been different. Which is to say, they hadn't changed at all. Cartman entered the halls of South Park High School like he owned the place, only to be met with a scowl from Wendy, her arm snaked around Stan's waist. Stan looked up to see what Wendy was glaring at, only to quickly look away when he identified his former friend, instead opting to drape his arm around his girlfriend's neck and lead her away.

"Fucking bitch is going to get what's coming to her," Cartman muttered under his breath as he hiked his backpack onto his shoulder again and pushed through the people filling the halls. He turned a corner, almost bumping into Tweek, who let out a shrill shriek at the near-collision. Cartman stifled a string of swears as the twitching teen leapt out of the way and darted down the hall to catch up with his friends. Cartman looked down the hall and stopped in his tracks, feeling the sneer melt off of his face. There, pulling his arm out of his backpack and carelessly tossing a textbook into his locker, was Kyle Broflovski, the most perfect piece of filth to walk this planet. Standing next to him, with his back to Cartman, was someone clad in a familiar orange parka. Of course, Kyle was chatting with Kenny. It had become a daily ritual for those two. Kenny was probably talking about how he boned one of the disease-ridden whores walking these halls. It was surprising to know he got laid, given how disgustingly grimy his parka was, how greasy his tangled locks of golden hair were, and how he reeked of cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and something else that could only be described as rotting skunk.

Cartman swallowed hard as he pushed himself onward towards his locker. Of course, the school had to stick his locker right next to the fucking kike's. He wondered if Kyle was having a good morning as the distance between the two closed. Kyle lifted his head as Cartman strolled past him.

"Jew," Cartman muttered disapprovingly.

"Fuck off, fatass," Kyle retorted.

Cartman grinned inwardly and felt his heart leap at the small bit of acknowledgement; Kyle was having a good morning after all.

"Leave him the fuck alone," Kenny spat.

Cartman opened his own locker without looking at the pauper. There was no doubt in his mind that he was getting a rather angry look from him, a look that Cartman was all-too-familiar with. "It's a free country, poor boy. I can do what I want." He looked towards the two boys and added with a smirk, "And that includes irritating the shit out of certain Jews."

"What you do is called hate speech, dumbass, and the fact that this country is free doesn't mean you can do as you please," Kyle said in a matter-of-fact manner, a slight tinge of annoyance bleeding through his words.

Cartman felt his stomach twist, threatening to expel the pancakes he had downed for breakfast. Two sentences from Kyle was unusual, he must've been having a really good morning. He decided to push him a bit more to see if he responded. "What are you going to do, get your Jew dad to sue me?"

Kyle shoved a rather hefty math book into his backpack and closed it, yanking the zipper shut. "No, but I might have him represent me after I dismember you." The glint of victory in the Jew's eye was unmistakable. He lifted his pack off the ground, nodded his head to the side at Kenny, and left down the corridor.

Kenny growled at Cartman. "You had best leave him the fuck alone, fat boy, or else all of the fat in the world won't protect you." He turned promptly and ran after his friend.

The threat didn't bother Cartman. Aside from maintaining a disaffected attitude, his heart was still somersaulting from his brief conversation with Kyle. Usually, his snide greeting would be met with a complete lack of acknowledgement of his existence from the ginger. His pulse refused to return to normal even as he tugged the oversized math book out of his locker and let it tumble into his bag, bending the edge of the cover as it did so.

"Oh, h-hey Eric!" a chipper voice said.

Cartman didn't need to look up to know who it was. "Butters," he said curtly.

"I got your essay finished, Eric, and I think it's the best thing I've ever written!" the blonde said, thrusting a stack of papers into Cartman's face.

Cartman, finding his field of view interrupted by the sudden presence of the essay, ceased his attempt to find something interesting to stare at on the ground. He lifted his head up, looked at Butters, and snatched the work out of the boy's hand. He hastily crammed the assignment into his backpack and closed it. "Thanks," he said. With a swift kick, he knocked the pack to Butters's feet. He turned and started walking down the hall, giving a short command: "Carry it."

The blonde obeyed and picked up the backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and crushing his own Pokémon backpack (featuring various ground type Pokémon) beneath the weight. "Hey Eric, are ya gonna come over today?" Butters said, lurching forward a bit in his attempt to catch up with his friend.

"Why the hell would I want to hang out with some faggot like you?"

The smile was wiped off of Butters's face and his expression suddenly became more concentrated, as if he were trying to force the look of disappointment onto his face. "You p-promised," he said sternly.

Cartman rolled his eyes and grumbled, "It's fucking boring at your house." The sudden sound of a book bag hitting the ground behind him stopped him in his tracks. He turned around slowly and saw Butters several paces back. Behind him, lying upside down on the floor, was Cartman's bag. He took a deep breath, glowered at Butters, and stepped forward.

Butters flinched a bit. "I'm p-pretty sick and t-t-tired of your shit, Eric," he said, holding his ground despite the threat of Cartman beating him up again.

Cartman continued to stare the smaller boy down. "Are you going to pick that up?"

Butters looked at the ground meekly. "Well… I guess so," he squeaked quietly, stooping down to retrieve the fallen bag.

"Fine, I'll come to your house, but god damn it, you better have some decent entertainment, or I will seriously…" Cartman trailed off. "Now hurry the fuck up, class starts soon and I don't want to be late."

The day, as usual, was uneventful. Cartman would always spend his first class distracting Butters from taking notes in some way; today, he had taken to yanking the paper out from under Butters's pen, which resulted in various blue curves and lines staining the drab gray desk. For the next two class periods, there was no one whom Cartman could pester. Instead, he took to sitting at a desk against the wall in a bid to attract as little attention from the teacher as possible. It made it far easier to nap unseen if there was someone sitting in front of him. The class before lunch saw him enduring the constant flirting and giggling between the high school sweethearts, Stan and Wendy. Of course, they had been dating on-and-off since before most of them could remember, but as the high school years dragged on, the two seemed to become more and more invested in each other. Cartman made it his personal mission to ruin their mushy moments during class through whatever means necessary. Twice it had scored him a black eye from Wendy, though he always made sure to land a few punches on the bitch before she hit her desired target.

Finally, Cartman's favorite time came: lunch. Despite school lunch tending to be a foul-tasting, diarrhea-inducing pile of slop sitting in a poorly cleaned tray, Cartman would always grab two helpings to satisfy his substantial appetite. Today's menu featured cheeseburgers, one of his favorites: meat patties (of dubious origins) blackened to a crisp, a piece of flimsy cheese on top (usually still wrapped in the plastic), all on a stale bun. It didn't get much better than this. Armed with two trays of what could be classified as a biohazard, Cartman skirted the edge of the cafeteria, making his way to a table situated in a corner. Butters was already seated there, examining an apple with fervor. He tilted his head up when he noticed the slight change in lighting, seeing Cartman looming over him. The latter plopped his trays unceremoniously onto the table before seating himself across from the only person who would still give him the time of day.

"Hey there, Eric!" Butters greeted him with a saccharine voice before screwing his eyes up to get a better focus on the apple again.

"Hey Butters," Cartman replied, somewhat disinterested in whatever dull conversation his friend was certain to start any second now.

"Boy, I tell you, Bebe sure was sore at me in class today! I asked her if I could borrow one of her pencils, and…"

Cartman tuned out the otherwise ingratiating voice and scanned the cafeteria. The ugly table, the table with the girls, Craig's group… there. Cartman fixed his gaze on a table where three familiar figures were seated: Stan, Kyle, and Kenny. Stan and Kyle were in the midst of a heated battle, tossing pieces of a torn up milk carton back and forth between each other. Suddenly, Kyle's head twisted towards Kenny's direction – Kenny had sacrificed a small piece of his bread sandwich to join the war, launching an ambush on Kyle's unguarded flank. The redhead responded in kind by tossing paper scraps in the direction of both of his friends.

"…and I promised I'd g-get some money for her to buy a new shirt, but, gee, I don't know," Butters furrowed his eyebrows as he absentmindedly lined his French fries up into neat rows.

"Riveting story, Butters. Really, you should be a novelist. Your narrations are sure to please millions," Cartman said, forcing his gaze back to the person sitting across from him.

"I just feel awful about it, Eric. I ruined her brand new shirt," Butters sighed.

"That bitch is buying brand new shirts every week, she'll forget about it by tomorrow," Cartman scoffed.

"I sure hope you're right, because I don't really want to give up some of the money in my piggy bank. I was saving up for something special!"

"A piggy bank? Jesus Christ, Butters, you're gayer than I thought."

Fifth period was always the most agitating for Cartman. One reason was because it was the penultimate class of the day, resulting in his eyes being glued to a clock for the entire class. Staring the clock down never helped time go faster. If anything, the second hand slowed down, as if it were mocking him. The other reason that fifth period was agitating was that it preceded sixth period which, for Cartman, was a study hall. Normally this wouldn't be an issue, but the fact of the matter was that Kyle shared his study hall. Other than the hallways, it was the closest Cartman could get to him.

When the bell finally rang, Cartman already had his stuff packed up and ready to go. Effortlessly, he snaked through the rows of desks while his classmates around him stuffed their possessions into bags of various styles, with sizes ranging from the uselessly tiny to the outrageously large. By the time he made it to the room where his study hall was, Kyle was already there, seated in a desk in the middle, his nose buried in whatever book he was reading this week. Perfect. Cartman slipped into the room unnoticed and snuck into the chair directly behind Kyle. It was the closest he could ever hope to get to him. He would spend the entire period staring at Kyle. As much as he hated to admit it, being this close to the kike was slightly intoxicating. Kyle continued reading his book, unaware that he was being observed, until the bell finally signaled to him that school was finally over.

As soon as the first sound reached Kyle's ears, he placed his book in a green messenger bag, slung it over his shoulder as he stood, and walked out of the room into the hallway, where droves of students had appeared almost instantly. Cartman swore at his lack of foresight – he had strewn several papers and two books on his desk to make it look like he was busy, but this had the disadvantage of a longer packing time. Not today. With one swoop of his arm across the surface of the desk, his work went tumbling chaotically over the side of the desk and landed on top of his waiting book bag. He leaned over, ripped the bag open wider to let his stuff fall inside, and zipped it up. He stood, yanking his bag up with his momentum and nearly toppling his desk in the process. Without looking back to make sure the furniture wasn't actually uprooted, Cartman went out into the hall and looked left and right.

Shit, he was gone. It was fucking impossible to see with everyone clogging the halls. He craned his neck and kept walking down the hall. When he reached the next intersection, he turned his head left towards the main door and caught a glimpse of a green ushanka in a sea of colorful hats bobbing its way outside. He pushed through any of the students blocking his path to the door, disrupting several conversations and hearing plenty of colorful descriptors shouted in his wake. He burst through the last wall of people and stumbled onto the front steps of the school. The first breaths of winter air stung his lungs as he surveyed the parking lot before him. Already, his target had crossed the parking lot and was progressing further down the sidewalk. 'Christ,' Cartman thought, 'it's like the Jew can fucking teleport.' He gritted his teeth to keep himself from shivering and stuffed his hands into his pockets. As much as he hated it, he'd have to run to catch up to him.

At first, Kyle thought it was the distant sound of car doors being slammed. _Clomp, clomp, clomp_. But as the sound came closer, he realized that someone was running after him. He turned around, expecting Stan or maybe Kenny, but the smile on his face disappeared the moment he saw the source of the sound.

"Cartman, fuck off," Kyle said, turning around and walking faster.

"Wait, Jew," Cartman said, stopping a moment to pant. "Jew, slow the fuck down," he said between breaths.

"No," came the short reply.

Cartman regained his composure and walked quickly to catch up to Kyle. "Jew, I said wait!" he barked.

Kyle stopped short and whipped himself around. "I said fuck off, fatass! I told you, I don't want to have anything to do with you anymore! That hasn't changed from when I first told you!"

"What's the matter," Cartman smirked, "Your butt buddy Stan couldn't give you a ride home today? It is you that does the riding, isn't it?"

"Oh my God, Cartman, you are insufferable," Kyle hissed. "Why the fuck am I even wasting my time?" He turned around again and kept walking.

'God damn it,' Cartman chided himself. 'You're supposed to talk to him, not push him away.' He called out "Jew, wait!"

Kyle simply held up his middle finger.

"Jew!"

Cartman's shouting was interrupted by a black pick-up truck pulling up next to Kyle. The window rolled down and Stan leaned out.

"Hey, need a ride?" Cartman heard Stan ask.

"I thought you had to stay late?" Kyle asked.

"No, I got out of it," Stan grinned. "Hop in."

"I could certainly use it," Kyle said, leveling a glare in Cartman's direction.

Stan looked in the direction of Kyle's gaze. "Oh," he simply said, his expression souring. "What the hell does he want?"

"Who cares? He's just being an asshole. He's a really persistent one today, at that." Kyle shrugged and skimmed around the front of the truck. He yanked open the passenger side door, climbed in, and slammed it shut. Before Cartman could yell out to him again, the truck was carelessly speeding off into the distance.

"Shit," Cartman said, oblivious to the pins and needles feeling developing in his face. He started walking, beating himself up mentally as his feet carried him home. "I just had to go and make that butt buddy joke," he said to himself. Of course Stan and Kyle weren't gay, but how could he resist poking fun at Kyle like that? He sighed, the realization finally sinking in that he had, once again, fucked up. Something fell across his line of sight as he trudged down the sidewalk, disrupting his thoughts. He looked up; it had begun to snow. For a moment he stood there, his breath swirling out in frosty clouds, staring up as the flakes around him began to blanket his world.

He had never felt more alone.


	2. Boredom

A/N: Ugh I hate this chapter; I can't stop finding stuff wrong with it. Way too much dialogue. It's mostly just exposition. Next chapter we'll start with the good stuff, plot developments and such.

Obviously I don't own South Park or Modern Warfare or anything related.

Chapter 2: Boredom

To passersby, the Stotch house looked perfectly normal: just another house situated in some unheard-of mountain town. But if one were to stop and look closely, they might notice that it seemed a little too perfect. The driveway had been shoveled entirely clear, without a single trace of ice on the pavement. Whatever snow had been removed was nowhere to be found. The house looked a little too vibrant for one that withstood the ever-present harsh winter climate, as if it were painted every week. If this observer were to glance through the sparkling, nigh-invisible windows, they would see an immaculately maintained interior.

Cartman was presently perched on the front step of the house. On his walk up the driveway, he had paused three times to consider turning around, going home, and doing 'something less gay'. There was never really a good reason for him to visit Butters. Ever since he was old enough to know how strict Butters's parents were, he'd had another reason to avoid the place at all costs. He turned around and surveyed the street, his eyes trailing up the path he took to the front door. He raised an eyebrow as he followed the path shoveled in the snow that connected the driveway to the front door - the sides had been smoothed flat. Brushing this curiosity aside, he turned around and jabbed his finger on the doorbell. There was a pathetic 'ding' on the other side of the door. No turning back now.

Almost instantly, a series of thudding footsteps approached the door. The door was flung open with gusto, revealing a Butters, beaming with a wide smile.

"You came!" he said, launching himself at Cartman and wrapping his arms around the larger teen.

"Fuck, Butters, get off of me!" Cartman said, working to dislodge the blonde's hands from his coat.

Butters let go before his friend got too violent, as he surely would. "You're gonna catch a cold if you just s-stand around outside, come on!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming in," Cartman said, pushing past Butters.

Before he could take any more steps into the house, Butters leapt in front of Cartman. "Not so fast, mister," Butters said. "Ya need to take your shoes off."

Cartman looked down at his feet, then back up at Butters. "Are you fu-"

The sentence was interrupted by a voice coming from the kitchen. "Butters, why is the front door open?" It was Butters's dad.

"Oh, h-hamburgers!" Butters yelped. He dove for the door, grabbing it and slamming it shut. "S-sorry, dad, I was just reminding Cartman to take off his s-shoes."

The explanation was met with chilly silence.

Cartman stooped down and started to untie his shoes. The less he had to deal with Mr. Stotch, the better. As he removed his left shoe, he looked up at Butters. The boy was now shaking violently while his eyes darted around the room wildly and his fingers were mashing together with force.

When he had removed his other shoe and placed them on the mat designated for shoes, he stood and faced Butters. "Well, are we going to do something or not?"

Butters jumped. "Oh, Eric! I'm sorry, I must've, ah, spaced out there."

"I'm seriously, Butters. You better have something entertaining this time."

"Boy, do I!" Butters exclaimed, grabbing Cartman's arm and tugging him in the direction of the stairs. "I've got all sorts of cool games!"

Cartman should've known better. Butters's definition of 'games' was assorted family board games. Instead of sorting through a stack of games he knew he'd never play, he instead looked to Butters's desk, where a neatly kept stack of computer games sat. Again, he should've known better; all of the games had a rating of K. As soon as he saw the rating, he would toss the game behind him without any regard for the trajectory before repeating the process for the next game in the stack. While Cartman flipped through the games, Butters furtively reached under his bed and produced a worn shoe box. Without lifting the top off, he dug around inside and, feeling what he sought, pulled out a copy of 'Modern Warfare'.

"Seriously? That game is so old, don't you have the new one?" was Cartman's response when Butters proudly presented it in an attempt to salvage the night. Butters frowned, put the game back in the shoe box, and pushed the box back into the darkness beneath his bed.

After nearly five minutes of searching for something other than Candyland, Cartman flopped onto Butters's bed, feeling utterly defeated. Butters sat down on the bed next to him.

"Butters," Cartman's muffled voice emerged from the pillow beneath his face, "I thought I told you to have something entertaining."

"I'm sorry, Eric," Butters lamented. "I thought for sure you'd like Modern Warfare". He started to kick his feet off the side of the bed.

Cartman groaned and lifted his head off of the pillow. "It's not worth it if it's not the newest sequel," he complained. He twisted his body to look at Butters, but something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Fully turning over, Cartman began to eye the computer. "Butters, do you know how to get online?"

"My dad locked me out from the Internet with a password," Butters declared. An awkward, devious grin crept onto his face as he continued, "But I found out the password." He lifted himself off of his bed and darted to his chair. He fell into it, completing one full revolution before arriving at his keyboard again and starting to type.

Cartman pushed himself off of the Batman bed sheets and walked over to Butters, who had already put in the password and was scrolling through some social networking site.

Butters looked up for a moment before drawing his attention back to the screen and said, "You can see all sorts of stuff on the Internet! But you probably knew that already, huh, Eric?"

"Butters, I never want to know what sorts of stuff you see on the Internet. Out of the chair," Cartman demanded.

Butters sighed and relinquished his position, opting to sit on the floor next to the chair. He propped himself with his arms and craned his head up to see the screen. Cartman hopped into the chair and started typing something.

"What are ya doing, Eric?" Butters inquired.

"Movie. I'm getting into my mom's movie account," Cartman replied.

"Movies?" Butters furrowed his brow. "Doesn't your mom star in thos-"

"No. I'm looking up a fucking horror movie," Cartman said, his voice low and quaking.

"Oh... can we watch something else? I don't like horror movies, they give me nightmares!"

"Don't be such a pussy, Butters," Cartman snapped.

Kyle Broflovski sat alone in one of the diners that occasionally cropped up in South Park. A plate sat before him, a cheeseburger lost in a high pile of French fries. He absentmindedly grabbed the ketchup bottle while looking out the window down the street. Without paying attention he squirted ketchup in a swirl onto his fries before putting the bottle back down next to his milkshake. He wasn't all that hungry, but food was always good company for teenage get-togethers. He continued to glance out the window, barely touching the hot meal in front of him. Where the hell was he? They agreed to meet at 8:30, and it was already pushing 8:50.

Ten minutes later, he saw who he was waiting for: a figure in an orange parka and matching orange sweat pants glided silently around the unlit street corner and walked coolly down the sidewalk past the diner. His hood, as usual, was up, making it hard to discern the features of his face. Anybody who was familiar with the parka know would have no trouble in identifying its owner, facial features or not. Just before he reached the door, his hands appeared from the parka pockets, reached up, and lowered the hood. Kyle whipped back around to face his food as he heard the door to the diner open, ringing a small hanging bell in the process.

"Sorry I'm late," Kenny said as he slid into the booth opposite Kyle. "Cheap alarm clocks," he added with a cheeky grin.

"It's 9 PM, why the hell were you sleeping?" Kyle asked.

"Why the hell not?" Kenny responded. He looked at his reflection in the window and ran a hand through his hair to fix a stray cowlick.

Kyle gave a half-hearted shrug and sipped on his milkshake. His eyes trailed around the room, looking for something to focus on other than the boy across the table.

"Where's Stan?" Kenny asked.

"He couldn't come. He was having a date with Wendy tonight, remember?" Kyle remarked, trying not to let the disappointment come through in his voice.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Damn, she's got him whipped."

"Just because Stan has a girlfriend, it doesn't mean he's 'whipped'," Kyle retorted. "Besides, their relationship has been going well lately."

"Oh please, they break up every two months. They're due to split up again in a week. It's practically like Stan has a period."

Kyle coughed, almost inhaling a French fry. When he had regained his composure, he replied, "Maybe you're right." He plucked another fry off of his plate and looked out the window, a stern look of concentration on his face. Kyle started twirling the fry deftly between his fingers as if it were a pencil. If Kenny didn't know any better, Kyle was mulling over a homework problem and not a social problem. "I'd just hate to see him get depressed again," Kyle finally spoke after a few seconds of silence had passed. He pointed the stringy spud at Kenny. "You know how hopeful he gets about things. Besides, he really loves her."

"Well," Kenny leaned in a bit and lowered his voice, "word on the street is that Wendy has been seeing Craig behind Stan's back."

Kyle scoffed. "Come on, dude, I thought we agreed to never trust rumors. Especially after what happened that summer..."

"Hey, a rumor is a rumor, it's not like Cartman started it. I'm just saying, if it's true, be ready to be there for him."

"Aren't I always there for him?"

"I guess," Kenny said, stealing a fry from Kyle's plate. Before Kyle could interrupt, he continued, "During that summer, it didn't look like that would be the case."

Kyle sighed. "Please, Kenny, I thought we agreed to just bury what happened. We all agreed that Cartman was a dick and that we'd never talk to him again, much less about what he did."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Kenny knew that Kyle was right. What good was there in dredging up painful memories? They all had a tough time, but they stuck through it together and came out okay in the end. Isn't that what counted? Kenny plucked another fry from the plate.

"That sucked," Cartman complained as the credits began to roll. He glanced to the side, where Butters had been taking shelter behind a pillow ever since the opening scene. "Butters, is there anything that doesn't scare you?"

"W-well sure, but I just don't like those gory movies," he said, trying to get his quivering voice under control.

"What are you talking about? That scene where the guy's head blew open was awesome!" Cartman raved, before adding under his breath, "It was the only part worth watching."

Butters shook his head. "Is that what really happens when someone gets shot in the head?"

"God damn it, Butters, don't be so fucking sheltered," Cartman grumbled.

"I can't help it, if my parents knew I was watching stuff like t-this, well, they'd ground me!"

"You are in a perpetual state of grounding," Cartman flatly commented. He swung his legs off of the desk and to the ground, sending some papers tumbling over the side as well.

Butters sighed and dropped the pillow to the ground and clambered onto his hands and knees. He started to gather together the papers. He looked up at Cartman, sitting as if he were a king watching a serf scrub his floors, and asked, "Well, aren't you going to help?"

Cartman gave Butters a listless look before sighing, stooping over, and retrieving one single paper. "There, I helped." He was about to toss it to the floor again (ignoring Butters's attempted glare) before something caught his eye. He examined the paper closely. It was a collection of math problems; more accurately, it was the math homework that had been assigned for today. The handwriting didn't belong to Butters though. Cartman knew this script well - the way the t's curled at their tail, the careful slant to the i's, loopy y's...

"Butters... did... did Kahl write this?" Cartman asked, his voice becoming quiet.

Butters blinked a bit, not fully comprehending why Cartman was asking. "Uh, yeah, he did. Why?"

Cartman didn't remove his eyes from the paper, studying the handwriting intently. "Why do you have his math homework?"

Butters's face brightened up. "That's not his homework, Eric, that was from when he was tutoring me earlier today!"

"Kahl tutors you?"

"Well, yeah," Butters affirmed with a frown, "I told ya that a few weeks ago. Weren't ya listening?"

"It must've slipped my mind," Cartman lied. "Can I keep this?"

Butters's eyebrow rose. "What do you need that for?"

"I... uh, I haven't done my homework yet, Butters. And I'd really rather not fail math this year." Another lie.

"Gee, Eric, maybe you should ask Kyle to tutor you!" Butters remarked excitedly. His exuberance quickly died when he added, "Oh, but he always sounds real sore when I mention you."

Cartman's head shot up, his eyes finally pried from the paper for the first time since he looked at it. "He talks about me?"

"Not much," Butters said, biting his lip. "Mostly when I mention ya. But sometimes he complains about something you said in class."

"Does he ever say anything nice about me?"

Butters shook his head. "Not unless you count his remark about not having a good debate partner anymore, but I think he was being s-sarcastic."

Cartman folded up the piece of paper and crammed it into his pants pocket. "Well Butters, I'd love to say it's been fun, but it hasn't." He stood up from the chair and grabbed his winter coat off of the floor.

"Aw, do ya really have to go now?" Butters whined as his friend began to don his coat.

"I'm exhausted," Cartman lied again, slipping his other arm into the empty coat sleeve. "And I've still got homework to take care of," he asserted, slapping the pocket containing the folded paper. He zipped up his coat with an air of finality ready to leave what he was certain to be one of the circles of Hell. He opened the door and marched out into the hallway.

"I'll see you in school tomorrow?" Butters called after his friend. The only response was the doorway being shut.

Cartman emerged from the Stotch house into the bitter winter air. He tugged the zipper up higher on his coat, partially burying his face into its depths to keep warm, and shoved his hand into the pocket containing the homework. Grasping it firmly, he ran his thumb across its smooth surface, feeling the indentations of Kyle's handwriting and tracing its every curve. Thoughts raced through his head on the way home. Maybe this was the breakthrough he was looking for to get back into Kyle's life: fake needing a tutor. 'Like that would work,' Cartman's doubt rejoined.

He continued to argue the scenario in his head even as he reached his house and entered its darkened interior. Whenever the lights were out in the living room, it meant his mom was working for the night. Tugging his coat off and tossing it onto the couch as he walked by and into the kitchen, he saw that there was a note left on the refrigerator door from his mom. It probably just said some bullshit about how she had to work late tonight and wouldn't see him until the morning and how he could eat whatever he wanted. As if that was any different from his everyday life. The note was ripped off of the door, crumpled up, and casually dropped to the floor. Opening the fridge door, he peered inside and found it unusually empty. Fucking bitch forgot to go grocery shopping again. He grabbed a pizza box off of the top shelf and opened it up, finding four slices inside. This would have to do. The cover of the box was jammed shut and two cans of soda were pulled out of the fridge and balanced precariously on top of the pizza box. He kicked the door shut and stomped up the stairs to his room.

In the darkness of his room, Cartman munched on the cold pizza, following every bite with a hearty swig of cola. Kyle's math work was sitting in front of him as if it were a dinner partner. Asking Kyle to tutor him was probably the dumbest idea he had up to this point. It smacked of desperation. After all, Kyle said it himself - he didn't want anything to do with some fat sack of lard. But since when did a Jew's words ever stop him? What good was it if he never tried? If it didn't work, it's not like he would end up in a worse place than he was now, right?

"Alright, Kahl," Cartman spoke to the note, "If that's what it takes."


	3. Binomials

A/N: Wow, I sincerely apologize that this chapter didn't come out earlier. I had meant to get it published by the end of last week, but these last few weeks for me have been extremely busy, and so I didn't get around to it. Again, I'm really sorry, and I hope some of you are still hanging on with me. I didn't abandon this, I promise! Anyway, here's chapter 3. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Binomials

For a moment, Cartman was confused. As his vision - blurry from sleep - returned, he tried to figure out how his body was oriented. The surface above him was a stark white: his ceiling. The wheels in his mind began to turn and slowly but surely processed this information and incorporated it into the realization that he was currently laying on his back in his bed.

"Fuck mornings," Cartman groaned.

He let his head fall to the right, where his nightstand was. It was 6:10, five minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off. He exhaled and continued to stare at the clock, waiting for their harsh red numbers to change. His eyes wandered to the wall behind the table, the dark purple paint absorbing any light that crept in through his window curtains. It then came to his attention that something was in his hand. He gave it a delicate squeeze. It was Kyle's math work. Yes, today would be the day that Cartman would get Kyle to talk to him again. With this purpose in mind, Cartman sat up in his bed. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes before turning their gaze towards the floor. The pizza box from last night had fallen to the carpet, open, dropping crumbs everywhere. One of the empty soda cans was laying next to it; the second remained unseen, probably somewhere underneath the bed.

He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and propelled his body up to a standing position with as much energy as he could muster at this time of day. Stumbling over the various books, papers, and trash littering his room, the husky teen reached his closet and opened it. He groped into its darkness until he felt the fabric of a shirt brush against his fingers. Clutching the shirt, he tugged it forcefully off of its clothes hanger. Without a thorough examination, the shirt was balled up and launched through the air towards the bed. It landed softly on the pillow.

With part of his wardrobe for the day settled, Cartman flipped the light switch for his closet on. There, on the far wall of the cramped space, were several pictures of Kyle, all of which had been sloppily taped up in some askew position. He glanced on the floor and spied a roll of scotch tape amid the sea of various objects covering his closet floor. Picking it up and plucking a fresh piece of tape off of the roll (as the leading piece was covered with dirt and fur), he taped Kyle's math work to the wall next to a picture of Kyle. Cartman smiled wistfully at the picture. The ginger, giving a wide grin at the camera, was 15 when the photo had been taken. It was taken only a few days before he had stopped associating with Cartman at all - the last time he had even flashed Cartman so much as a smile. Originally, Stan and Kenny had been somewhere on the outskirts of the picture, but Cartman had cut them out immediately after the photo had been printed. Cartman tenderly stroked the picture before flicking the closet light off and shutting the closet door firmly.

Cartman noticed the shirt laying on his bed. Okay, pants, he needed pants now. He stooped down and grabbed a pair of pants and a pair of underwear laying next to them.

"Clean?" Cartman wondered aloud, holding the pair up to examine them. He gave a shrug, muttered, "Who cares," and slipped out of his pajamas. After he had pulled his underwear on, his alarm clock went off, emitting its typical high-pitched cry. Cartman reached on the ground, picked up a wadded up sock, and tossed it at the clock with a well-practiced throw. It bounced off of the top of the alarm and hit the off button, succeeding in its mission of silencing the shrill siren. The sock landed somewhere on the other side of the bed.

After he was finished getting dressed and had attended to his usual morning routine, Cartman trotted downstairs into the living room. The smell of bacon and maple flooded his nostril, causing his stomach to growl. He could hear his mother humming a random tune over the sizzle of a frying pan in the kitchen.

"Good morning, dear," his mother said in her usual saccharinely sweet voice as her son strolled into the kitchen. "Pancakes and bacon for breakfast."

"There wasn't any food here last night," Cartman remarked tersely as another slice of bacon hit the pan, sizzling noisily.

"Oh, Eric," Liane sighed, "I was working late last night. I had to go to the store early this morning."

Cartman grunted and got a plate from the cabinet. "Always too busy with your work to worry about keeping this place clean and stocked with food."

"Eric," his mother shot back, her voice stern, "If it weren't for my job we wouldn't even have money for a loaf of bread." She focused her attention on the food in front of her, not daring to address her child's gaze. She plopped a few pancakes and several strips of bacon onto Cartman's plate.

"If it weren't for your job, maybe I wouldn't be stuck home alone every night."

Liane stopped flipping pancakes and winced. The words had hit their mark well.

Cartman layered the bacon on the pancakes. "I'm going to head to school early," he announced while rolling pancakes up with the bacon inside. He pulled it off of the plate, took a bite, and walked out of the kitchen. His mother still stood there, the pancakes burning, as she heard her son angrily slam the front door shut.

The last thing Cartman actually wanted to do was go to school early. What was he going to do there, sit around in the hallway and twiddle his thumbs? Few people actually showed up to school early; the Goth kids were normally behind the back, smoking and listening to stupid shit like The Cure. Some of the more studious kids, such as Kyle or Wendy, might be in the library preparing for an exam, though Kyle frequently hung out with Stan and Kenny somewhere else instead. There was also Craig's gang, who commonly took their place in Mr. Tweak's coffee shop in the time leading up to the first class period.

His feet dragged him up the steps of the school. It's not like he could go anywhere else - as if he would be welcome anywhere else in the first place. Cartman chuckled wryly. He had forgotten for a moment that he wasn't even welcome at school. He glanced around he pushed open the front doors and stepped inside. The hallways were empty and darkness filtered through the thin, rectangular windows on classroom doors. This early in the morning, most of the classrooms were still locked. Even the teachers loathed coming here before they had to. Cartman absentmindedly walked to the cafeteria, his stomach knotting with concern that he would fail to get Kyle to tutor him. If he fucked this up, there wasn't much left. Actually, there already was nothing left. This small sliver of hope was the only thing he was clinging on to. It was embarrassing to admit it, but the Jew was his only reason for existing.

When he rounded the corner, he was surprised to see Butters trotting away down the hall, sweetly humming a song.

"Butters?" Cartman asked, unsure if his mind was deceiving him.

Butters practically leapt out of his skin and froze for a brief second. He quickly wheeled around on one of his heels, facing Cartman with a beaming grin on his face.

"W-well, hey there, Eric!"

"Butters, what are you doing here?" Cartman asked, his eyebrow inching its way up.

"O-oh, you know, n-nothing important," Butters stuttered. He began to feverishly mash his fingers together. "Just thought I'd get here early to, um, do homework and stuff."

"Then why are you in the hallway?" Cartman crossed his arm.

"Uh," Butters's eyes darted around. "I was hungry!" He declared, the usual smile erupting on his face again.

"Just where I was heading," Cartman said, stepping forward and brushing past Butters. "Come on."

Cartman strode into the cafeteria, Butters trailing at his heels, and made a beeline for the table he usually sat at. There was absolutely nobody here. Harsh fluorescent lighting shone down on the dingy grey tiles and dull grey walls. When he reached the table, he flung his backpack onto the floor through the gap between the table and the bench. He swung his legs around and settled his husky frame onto the edge of the bench. Butters circled around and took his place opposite from his friend.

"You're here unusually early," Butters noted as Cartman opened his backpack and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper.

"What can I say, I'm a studious person," Cartman responded without looking up. He fished a pencil out of his backpack, along with his math textbook.

"You're actually doing your homework?" Butters asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Of course not!" Cartman scoffed, looking up. "But I have to make it look like I at least tried if I'm going to get Kyle to tutor me." Without saying another word, he focused on the blank sheet before him, pressed the pencil down hard, and began scribbling a mess that vaguely resembled math, but in truth didn't come close.

Butters furrowed his brows and observed for a minute. Cartman's chicken scratch writing was marred even more with lines of math that were either scratched out or partially erased. Butters broke the silence, noting, "You know, that's not actually math."

"Well gee, Butters, since you're the fucking expert, why don't you tell me what to write?"

Butters frowned. "Why not just say you don't understand it at all and save yourself the trouble?"

"Because Butters," Cartman sighed, rolling his eyes for effect, "If I haven't tried he'll refuse to help me. He'll suspect I'm up to something."

"He always suspects that you're up to something."

"Butters, I'm going to kill you."

Butters laughed anxiously.

The rest of the day went by painfully slow. Time, classes, people - everything seemed to have slowed to a near halt, right before Cartman's eyes, as if the universe was determined to keep the future from happening. During classes, he did anything he could to prevent himself from looking at the clock. He was too nervous to take his usual naps. During one period he tried to gouge a swastika into his desk. Another period saw him ripping pieces of paper into tiny shreds. He spent most of his lunch staring across the cafeteria at Kyle, tearing his gaze away quickly whenever Stan or Kenny would look in his direction. Despite Butters protests that Cartman should go to the nurse "on account o-of that you're actin' real funny", Cartman soldiered through the agonizing lunch hour just to watch Kyle - maybe even catch a glimpse of one of his ginger locks slipping out from underneath his hat.

At long last, reality seemed to relinquish any last hope of preventing Cartman's scheme. At the first ring of the bell signaling the end of fifth period, Cartman was already up and sprinting through the rows of desks, which he would have toppled over had they not been inhabited by teenagers in various states of sleep. Today, getting the seat behind Broflovski would be crucial. He plodded through the hallways as quickly as he could, pushing past groups of people clogging the intersections. Rounding the last corner, he saw Kyle strolling into the classroom. Perfect timing.

He slinked into the room silently, passing by the front of Kyle's desk on the way to the desk behind the jew. As Cartman plunged his frame into the seat, he saw Kyle visibly exhale, his shoulders slumping down. He was on his guard.

'Fuck,' Cartman swore to himself, 'I haven't even done anything yet and he's all pissy. Probably got a bunch of sand in his vagina.'

Cartman reached into his backpack and pulled his pencil out. He slowly poked the blunt tip into Kyle's back and whispered, "Hey Jew," elongating the 'ew'. Poke. Poke. Poke poke.

Kyle whipped around, nearly sending his hat off of his head in the process. "W-" the sentence started to come out as a full blown shout. He stopped himself in time and whispered harshly, "What?"

Cartman grinned. "Do you have a piece of paper I can use?"

Kyle exhaled again and turned back around, flipping to a random blank page in his notebook and tearing it out. Without turning around again, he reached over his shoulder and presented the crisp sheet to his tormenter.

"Thank you," Cartman whispered as he snatched the sheet out of Kyle's hand. Kyle visibly stiffened upon hearing those words.

He scrawled on the paper, 'I have to ask you a question.' After neatly folding it into a small square, he tossed the paper over the shoulder of its previous owner and onto the desk. For a few seconds, Kyle ignored the note. He prodded at it with his pen apprehensively, not sure whether he should knock it off of the desk or open it up and see what the fatass had to say this time. He chose the latter. He skillfully unfolded the paper without making a sound; evidently, he and Stan did this frequently. He read the message and glanced behind him briefly at Cartman, his face riddled with suspicion. He wrote a quick reply, folded up the note again, and tossed it casually over his shoulder onto Cartman's desk.

'What is it?' The handwriting was somewhat agitated and hurried.

'You tutor Butters in math, right?' Toss.

'What's it matter to you?' Chuck.

'I need someone to tutor me in math.' Fling.

'You = asshole, me =/= your tutor, lesson over'. Throw.

'Seriously!' Lob.

This time, Kyle didn't respond. He kept the note on his desk for the rest of the period. Cartman lay his head down on his desk and felt utterly defeated. Just like that, his attempts to break through had failed. Kyle hadn't even taken a second to think over tutoring him, but instead turned back to doing his homework after reading the final part of their exchange. For the next half hour, Cartman choked back his tears.

When the bell rang, officially ending the school day, Cartman was surprised when Kyle turned around and tapped him on the shoulder. Cartman lifted his head up.

"Outside. We'll talk outside," he simply stated before walking out of the room. Cartman fought to hide the smile creeping its way onto his face. Maybe things weren't so hopeless after all.

He quickly zipped up his backpack and shot out into the hallway to walk outside with Kyle. As usual, the Jew had slipped away before he could catch up. As he waded his way through the swarm of students in the hallway, Butters approached him.

"H-hey Er-"

"Not now, Butters. I've got to talk to Kyle," Cartman cut his friend off with a wave of the hand.

Butters eyes lightened up. "O-oh, is he gonna tutor you?"

"I hope so," Cartman called back as he left the blonde behind in the end-of-school chaos.

When he exited the building, Kyle was standing off to the side of the stairs. Kyle turned around when he heard the doors open and saw Cartman making his way down the stairs.

"Okay, I don't know what you're up to, but you need to leave me the fuck out of it," Kyle said.

"Woah woah woah, Jew," Cartman said, holding his hands up in surrender, "I'm not up to anything."

"Yeah, bullshit, you're always up to something."

"No, I'm seriously," Cartman retorted, slinging his backpack off of his shoulder. He unzipped it and reached inside, retracting his hand when he had his fake math in his hand. "Look," he said, thrusting the paper into Kyle's hands. "I'm terrible at this shit."

Kyle eyed the paper briefly. "This isn't anything. This is a bunch of letters and math symbols that you strung together." He looked back at Cartman.

"Exactly! See, I'm so fucking terrible, I don't even have a clue what I'm doing."

Kyle sighed. "There's a difference between not knowing what you're doing and making an ass of yourself, Cartman."

"Kahl, I need this. I don't want to fail math this year. Please. This isn't a plot or anything, I just... I really need help," Cartman pleaded.

Kyle looked away for a moment. When he looked back at Cartman, he said, "Okay. Okay, fine, we'll try this. But you try to pull any shit and I swear to god, I will kick your ass so hard that you won't be fat anymore."

"Finally!" Cartman said. "You're a hard Jew to bargain with, you know that?"

Kyle cast a warning glance. "Come on. Stan and Kenny are tied up today, so we're going to my house now to get this over with. Unless you've got plans?"

"Now is fine with me," Cartman shrugged apathetically. Inside, his heart was pounding as if he had run a mile.

The walk to Kyle's house was permeated with silence. Despite walking right next to his crush, Cartman didn't dare to steal a look at him. Instead, he kept his eyes wandering, looking at whatever he could in the town. Kyle did the same with the occasional glance in Cartman's direction as if he was expecting Cartman to pull out a gun at any moment. To his surprise, the normally nefarious Cartman hadn't tried anything - yet.

When they had finally arrived at the Broflovski house, Kyle turned to Cartman as he unlocked the door. "Look... you're not exactly welcome in this house. My mother won't exactly be pleased to see you here. So behave yourself. I can't guarantee I'll be able to protect you from her if you make any cracks about her being a bitch."

Cartman nodded. "Don't worry about me," he remarked.

"As if that were possible," Kyle muttered under his breath, pushing the door open.

The interior of the house was exactly as he remembered it. For his entire life, Cartman had never known the furniture to move from their positions, as if they had been bolted to the spot by Sheila Broflovski's iron fist.

"Bubbe, is that you?" A shrill voice called from the kitchen.

Speak of the she-devil.

"Yes, mom, it's me," Kyle called back, taking his coat off.

She emerged from the kitchen and stopped immediately when she saw none other than Cartman standing there next to her son. Her eyes narrowed. "Kyle, you didn't tell me you were having... company."

"Sorry," Kyle shrugged. "I'm going to be tutoring him. For math."

"Don't you normally tutor that nice Butters kid today?" she asked.

"That's later tonight," Kyle responded, stooping down and retrieving his math book from his backpack.

"Are you sure you can handle another person?" Sheila asked challengingly. She looked at Cartman. He could practically feel her boring through his head with her furious expression.

Kyle stood back up and nodded. "I'll be fine, mom. Honestly."

Sheila yielded and nodded. "Alright. Just tell me next time you're going to bring him over." The word 'him' was pronounced as if it were a loathsome word rolling off of her tongue.

Kyle took off up the stairs without saying so much as a word to Cartman. Cartman took his cue and diligently followed, escaping from the immediate vicinity of Mrs. Broflovski. The more distance between him and her, the better - even if that distance was only separated by a few feet of sheetrock and wood. At least he'd have fair warning when he heard her blasting through the wall using her sneaky Jew powers.

Kyle's room was yet another example of the constancy in the Broflovski household. The walls were still painted a shade of light cobalt blue. His bed was still pushed into the corner, beneath the window through which Cartman had snuck in many times as a child.

"Just give me a sec," Kyle said, dropping the textbook onto his desk. He clicked through some things on his computer, minimizing whatever windows he had up. "Don't touch anything," he hissed before jolting out into the hallway. Cartman didn't have time to even reach his arm out to touch something before Kyle had returned with a chair.

"Here, you can use Ike's chair," Kyle told his student, placing it next to the desk. He sat down in his own chair and flipped the book open to the first chapter. "Since you... apparently have no idea what you're doing, we're just going to start from the beginning. Sound good?"

Cartman nodded, as he took his seat. "Sounds fine with me."

Despite the fact that he could've actually used the tutoring, concentrating on Kyle's lesson was difficult. Cartman was more interested in observing Kyle as he taught, occasionally nodding his head or shaking his head accordingly to make it look like he was paying attention to the math. Cartman could see the tension in Kyle's muscles, as if it had layered up over the years from over-restrictive parents, an overachieving attitude, and nigh endless Jew jokes. His ushanka was still firmly upon his head, hiding his red curls as best as it could beneath its green fabric. His emerald eyes looked tired and overworked, yet still carried an unmistakable sparkle in them. Math was definitely one of Kyle's favorite subjects, judging from the way he lit up when he spoke about it. If you were to ask him, he'd tell you that binomials were the coolest thing in the world. Binomials.

"Binomials, Cartman. Are you even listening to me?"

Cartman startled a bit. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that, my mind drifted a bit."

Kyle scowled. "Look, if you're not going to pay attention, then you might as well stop wasting my time and just go home."

"Well I'm sorry, Kahl, but not everyone finds math as exciting as you do," Cartman snapped.

"It's not whether or not you find it exciting, it's whether or not you want to do well. That is why you're here, isn't it?"

Son of a bitch. "Alright, fine Jew. You're right. I'm sorry. I'll pay more attention."

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Alright then." Cartman sure as hell was acting unusual, he noted to himself.

Cartman tried his hardest to focus on the math for the rest of the time. It helped to focus on the sound of Kyle's voice, taking each sound and running over it in his mind as if it were a smooth stone, examining the surface for any imperfections that were not readily visible.

"So you can take these two polynomials and multiply them using foil," Kyle forged on.

What the fuck was he going on about tin foil for? Before he could pose the question, a harsh knock resounded from the door frame. The two teenagers looked up to see Ike standing in the doorway.

"I figured I'd find my chair in here, though I would've never guessed who would be in it," Ike remarked somewhat sourly.

"Actually, I think we've covered enough for today," Kyle declared with a quick glance at his computer clock. "Don't you agree, Cartman?"

Cartman looked at Ike, then back at Kyle, who gave him a look that screamed 'Get the fuck out of my bedroom before I toss you out'.

"Finally, I was drowning in that sea of algebra," Cartman said while standing up. "You can have your chair back, Canadian boy."

Kyle let out a frustrated sigh as Ike entered the room and tugged the chair away. "Thanks, lardface. Thanks for not breaking it with all of that weight," he called out as he exited into the hallway.

"Thanks for the lesson Jew, even though it was more boring than watching paint dry," Cartman said with a smirk on his face. He picked his backpack up off of the floor.

"Whatever, fatass. Same time tomorrow?"

"If that's what works for you, Jewboy."


	4. Burden

A/N: Alright, here we are, the next chapter! Special thanks to my friend Kyle for providing a suggestion for how Cartman wronged Kenny. That is a big help, thanks again! Also, just to give you folks a heads up, there might not be any updates from me until mid-January. The reason for this is that classes end for me this week, and I'll be going up to my parent's for the duration of my winter break. And regrettably, my mother doesn't have a computer, so my access to a computer will be sparse. I will work on the story during the vacation though, and if I get a chance, I'll sneak a chapter in before I show back up. Sorry for that! But enough of that; on with the story!

Chapter 4: Burden

"Okay, so I divided the polynomial and I got this. Does it look right?" Cartman leaned back slightly as Kyle circled around him and peered over his shoulder.

Kyle leaned in closer, his eyes rapidly scanning the marked up sheet of paper. "Well you don't have an x squared in the equation, so you need a 0 here," he remarked, jabbing the tip of his pencil at a spot among the mess of algebra.

Cartman groaned in frustration and tossed his pencil onto the paper. He had been getting tutored for nearly a week already. As hard as it was to pay attention to the actual lesson instead of studying Kyle's figure, he had to admit that he was steadily improving. His grades had started to increase - and the butterflies he got when he saw Kyle were beginning to fade. It seemed that even Kyle felt more at ease having Cartman less than a few feet away. The only person who was still adverse to the plan was Kyle's mother, bitchy as always. She would almost entirely ignore Cartman whenever he was in the house, though at least she didn't look like she was about to fry him with her Jew eye lasers. The remaining members of the Broflovski household, it was safe to say, held a guarded curiosity about Cartman's renewed presence in the house. One thing was obvious to Cartman though - his plan to befriend Kyle again was paying off in more ways than he had hoped.

"It's okay," Kyle said gently, reassuringly putting his hand on Cartman's shoulder. "For what it's worth, you're doing really well." The moment Kyle's hand touched Cartman's shoulder, he felt him instantly tense up. He quickly withdrew his hand, realizing his mistake. His student remained visibly tense. Kyle rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. Much to his surprise, Cartman had behaved - well, as much as he could behave. So far, no ludicrous schemes had come up and there seemed to be less conniving on the part of the husky teen. Of course he still made Jew jokes and was a complete self-centered bastard, but Kyle supposed that some things never changed. At least when there was a lesson, Cartman made somewhat of an attempt to stifle his anti-Semitic quips. With a halfhearted shrug, Kyle suggested, "Maybe we should call it a night."

Cartman's head whipped around. They were ending earlier than usual and the last thing he wanted was to spend less time with Kyle. It was hard enough that their only time alone together was punctuated by equations and variables. Glancing at the computer clock, he responded, "Well, it's only 7. Want to get something -" his throat caught momentarily "- to eat?" He started coughing. "Sorry," he feigned, "swallowed wrong."

Kyle blinked for a few moments. "Um, I," he stammered. "Uh, well, you see, I was supposed to meet up with Stan and Kenny in half an hour."

"Oh," Cartman said dejectedly. The room fell silent and Cartman's fingers began to fidget; Christ, he felt like he was turning into Butters. He shoved his hands into his pockets so Kyle wouldn't see.

Kyle looked Cartman up and down. For a moment, he thought he had glimpsed Cartman fidgeting. It certainly wasn't something you saw everyday and this was by far unusual behavior for Cartman. Either he had a plan rattling around in his brain or he was even more of a sorry case than he was after freshman year. Either one remained a distinct possibility in Kyle's mind. Well, what harm could it possibly be? "But, um, hold on," Kyle punctuated the silence, snatching his cell phone off of the desk and walking out briskly into the hall, turning the corner out of sight.

Cartman tilted his head so he could listen. No doubt he was calling Stan.

"Hey man," Cartman could hear Kyle in the hall. "No, yeah, I'm still coming. I wanted to ask you something though." A brief pause. "Okay, don't get thrown off by this but, could Cartman maybe tag along?"

There was a longer silence that began to border on awkward as Kyle started to pace up and down the hallway. His pacing brought him by his door several times, each time giving Cartman a glimpse of the Jew with his cell phone pressed hard against his ear, clutching the device a bit too tightly.

"No, I have not suffered any head trauma. No, I haven't been poisoned." His voice was growing more exasperated. "Oh for God's sake he does not have a gun to my head. Or any sort of weapon for that matter." Kyle paced back to the doorway and stood in it, eyeing Cartman up and down. "Well, he's Cartman. He still acts like Cartman, you know, consistently peppering his speech with anti-Semitic slurs, and still an obnoxious douchebag."

At that remark, Cartman glowered. Kyle ignored the look and appended his analysis with, "But otherwise harmless." More silence. "Yes, you can do that if he starts shit. Okay, you text that to Stan. Alright, see you then."

Kyle snapped the flip phone shut and walked over to his closet. "By some miracle, you're allowed to come. But Kenny says if you start anything, he has dibs on, and I quote, 'kicking his ass so hard that he loses a hundred pounds'."

Cartman rolled his eyes and simply inquired, "How the hell does Kenny have a cell phone? He's too fucking poor."

Kyle was digging in his closet for a shirt. "You assume I called his cell phone. He's got a phone at home too, fatass," he retorted.

"You just implied that he has one," Cartman pointed out.

Having found the shirt he was looking for, Kyle turned around and sighed, saying, "You know, just because someone's poor doesn't mean they can't make money to afford some things."

"Don't tell me prostitution is a job," Cartman scoffed, watching the other boy as he dropped the fresh shirt to his feet.

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "You know, I might be able to hold myself back from smacking your head off of the desk, but I can't guarantee that Kenny will be able. You better watch what you say tonight."

Cartman shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

In one swift motion, Kyle tugged his shirt off and tossed it onto his bed. His tangled red curls had been slightly ruffled in the process. Kyle's hands automatically flew up to the top of his head and began to undo the damage. Cartman's breath hitched. Standing in front of him, shirtless, was the person he desired more than anything. Kyle's bare chest expanded slowly as he inhaled. His form was slender, yet toned. His arms curved slightly at his biceps. Just above the waistline of his pants, which clung gently around his hips, the beginnings of a line of ginger hair could be seen.

Kyle stooped down to retrieve his fresh shirt and slipped it on. Just like that, the show was over. Cartman shut his mouth and plastered a scowl on his face by the time Kyle had refocused his gaze on his guest. Kyle raised an eyebrow at the bitter look on Cartman's face and grabbed his jacket off of the coat hanger it was on.

Slipping on the first sleeve of the jacket, he asked, "Ready to go, fatass?"

Cartman smirked. "Only if you're done primping your hair, kike."  
>-<p>

"Argh, why the hell did I agree to let him come?" Kenny groaned. He expressed a look of disgust. "Dumbest thing I've done all week."

Stan, sitting in the booth across from Kenny, shifted uncomfortably. "Well, maybe he's changed, man," he offered.

Kenny shook his head in disagreement. "This is Cartman we're talking about."

Stan said, "He's human, like you and-" Kenny snorted "-me. Okay, maybe's he's a bad example of a human. But at least give him a chance. If Kyle invited him by his own volition, then he can't be that bad."

"Are you forgetting what he did?" Kenny spat.

"Of course I didn't forget. Sheesh, you act like I'm forgiving him for everything he did. I'm just giving him a second chance and you should too."

Silence blanketed the table for a moment. Stan propped his head up and looked out the window.

"Look," Kenny said, breaking the silence, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get pissed at you. I know Kyle has his reasons, it's just..."

"I don't blame you for being bitter," Stan said, letting Kenny's sentence hang. "What he did that summer was fucked up."

"It's not just that, it's everything else he's done. Not just during the summer - the whole time we've known him. Dealing with him is a burden."

Stan remained silent for a second before finally saying, "With a weight like his, it is a heavy burden."

The faintest smile crept onto Kenny's face. It remained there for only a brief moment before disappearing again as his mind wandered to a time where he was younger; a time where he was caught in a war between friends, desperate to avoid any casualties in the crossfire and seeking whatever sense of stability he could get. Years of experiencing Cartman's stupidity had numbed his mind to the consequences of his friend's actions, and with that numbness came a certain patience for putting up with his harebrained schemes. The summer after freshman year tested the limits of that patience.

He had already managed to spend the first few weeks of his vacation dividing his time between a quarreling Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. He felt as if he were in a field fraught with mines and he made it his personal duty to defuse each and every one. He believed that if he could play his cards right, things would go back to being normal. And for a time, it seemed that way. Amends were made and the next, the gang was back together, hanging out like they had in the prior years. After all of the drama that preceded, Kenny felt that things were better. But he was wrong.

A part of Kenny always knew that Cartman would betray him in some way. That foresight, unfortunately, didn't soften the blow when the inevitability became reality. He hadn't actually been there when it happened, but he wished he had been. He had just gotten home from school when his sister Karen stumbled through the front door. Kenny glanced at her and before he could even fully process what had happened, his legs were carrying him to her. She was bleeding all over. Blood was caked onto her face, with intricate lines being created by the tears rolling down her cheeks. Her right eye was swollen shut. She lurched into her arm and Kenny noticed that her left leg was twisted at an odd angle. Broken, no doubt. He swooped her immediately into the bathroom to examine her wounds in a better light. As he washed blood away, the story came tumbling out: attacked on the way home by kids from school, cornered her in an alleyway. She screamed for help, but no help came. And then he walked by - Kenny's fat friend. She cried out to him for help. He stopped for a moment and looked before continuing on his way.

To make matters worse, Karen had to be taken to the hospital for treatment. This meant that the McCormick family would have to pay a rather large bill for medical expenses. As always, money was tight in the McCormick household, but after that, things became a lot tighter. To deal with the burgeoning financial difficulties, the McCormicks occasionally restored to less legal methods of securing money. When the cops came by to ask about the attack, Kenny pointed them in the direction of Cartman, hoping that he would at least spill a second-hand account of what happened. But that was too hopeful. Cartman said he hadn't seen anything. Karen's attackers were never apprehended. Justice was never dealt - not officially, at least. After that, Kenny, Kyle, and Stan vowed to never associate with Cartman again. Up until now, they had remained true to their word.

"Hey, here they come," Stan announced, snapping Kenny back to reality. He looked out the window and saw Kyle walking down the sidewalk with the most hated person in South Park in tow. 'Hehe, in tow,' Kenny chuckled to himself. Cartman was too heavy to be towed. Kenny made a mental note to remember that one. "Just give him a chance," Stan said, giving Kenny a stern look.

"Don't worry, I will. But," Kenny said, starting to slide out of the booth, "I'm sitting with you before Kyle can. I don't want to sit next to tubby."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose as he scooted over and made room.  
>-<p>

Cartman and Kyle slowed their pace as they approached the glass door of the diner. Kyle swallowed hard. What had he just done? Inviting Cartman to come along was the dumbest thing he'd done all year.

Cartman rushed slightly ahead of Kyle, beating him to the door. He yanked it open, waved his friend through, and remarked, "Kikes before Reichs."

Kyle shook his head in disapproval. "That was horrible. It didn't make any sense," he said as he passed by Cartman and entered the diner.

"Fuck you," Cartman responded under his breath.

The two teens sauntered coolly up to the booth where their friends were waiting, ignoring the awkwardness pervading the situation. Stan and Kenny looked up as Kyle and Cartman reached the head of the table and stood there.

A few seconds of silence passed before Kyle greeted, "Hey guys." The two seated teens resounded the greeting as Kyle slid into the booth across from them. In his head, Kyle was screaming at Kenny. It was enough that Kyle had to put up with being near Cartman for the tutoring, but now he had to put up with it here again. He knew Kenny had moved - the cheap plastic covering the seat was still warm. Cartman dropped his body onto the seat, sending a surge of pressure through the foamy cushioning and propelling Kyle up an inch. He slowly sank down, watching the pained expressions on the faces of his friends.

"Hey fag-" Cartman began to say, but found his speech abruptly muffled by a green mitten over his mouth. He glanced over, his eyes following the hand down the outstretched arm and up to Kyle's face.

"Consider your next words carefully," Kyle whispered harshly. He removed his hand with trepidation.

"Hey guys," came the rectified greeting.

"Hey," Kenny and Stan replied simultaneously while avoiding his gaze, their voices flat.

Silence blanketed the table again. Kyle looked around. Stan was busy looking at the floor, Kenny's head was twisted so much in an effort to look out the window that he might as well snap his own neck, and Cartman... Cartman was looking at him. Kyle sighed. This was an unmitigated disaster. Obviously, the source of the tension was Cartman. Maybe if he could get the Nazi blimp parked next to him to drum up a conversation, things might ease up a bit. He elbowed Cartman in the ribs. Cartman grunted and shot an ugly look at him. Kyle put on his best irritated look and mouthed, 'Say something!'

'God damn Jew,' Cartman grumbled to himself. "So, any of you guys played the new Modern Warfare game?"

"Mm, yeah," Stan said, picking his head up slowly. "Kickass game."

Another pause.

"...You ever play online?" Cartman asked. God damn it, if the Jew wanted a conversation so much, he should at least pitch in.

"Sometimes, yeah. But mostly I play with Kenny."

"Gay," Kenny coughed.

"I meant the game!" Stan said a little loud, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

"Oh admit it, Stan," Kenny said, licking his lips. "You just want to play with my joystick." He waggled his eyebrows.

Cartman cut in. "The only person who wants to play with your 'joystick', poor boy, is yourself."

For a moment, Kenny felt like screaming something insulting back, but something stopped him - Cartman's voice lacked any hostility. It was a joke. "I get more than you, Lord of the Lard," Kenny retaliated, his face lightening up a bit. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed this. He missed the banter. For some reason, he had missed Cartman.

"I get plenty, and I don't have to pay for it either. And I'm not fat, god damn it!"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Kenny said, waving Cartman off. "You're big boned."

"Bigger boned than you," Cartman spat.

Kenny smirked. "Is that a challenge?"

As the night wore on, the atmosphere became progressively more relaxed. Stan interjected himself regularly into the ruckus, though he couldn't help but think of how long it had been since all four boys had been together. Had it really been almost two and a half years? He counted months off in his head. Yep, two and a half years since any of them had had any meaningful dialogue with Cartman. Cartman hadn't really changed at all, that went without saying. Nevertheless, Stan felt that things were complete again. Before, any time he was out, it felt like there was a piece of the puzzle missing. Sure, Cartman was an obnoxious asshole who was more than prone to bouts of political incorrectness, but he had been there since the beginning. Now that senior year was here, it was only fitting that he was present for the end. Stan cast his glance at Kenny, who was now trying to steal French fries from the plate of food that Cartman had just ordered. He shifted his view to Kyle, who was watching the two boys quarrel over food. Kyle's eyes met his, and they shared a brief smile.

Kyle turned his attention back to Kenny and Cartman. The blonde had finally managed to retrieve a handful of fries, breaking through Cartman's defenses. He snickered as Cartman bellowed for his food and Kenny retorted that Cartman didn't need any more food. He couldn't help but smile inwardly at the spectacle. Even though Cartman was still as abrasive as ever, he had to admit that some small part of him had missed having him around. Even Kenny, who had vowed that Cartman would answer for his inaction, seemed to be having a good time.

Kyle looked at Cartman as the boy took another bite out of his cheeseburger, still arguing with Kenny. He studied Cartman, tracing his facial features with his eyes and scanning up and down his figure. Cartman certainly wasn't as fat as he had been at earlier ages, though he still carried enough bulk for it to be noticeable beneath his clothing. Cartman looked over at Kyle in the midst of his argument. Their gazes met and remained fixed on each other. Kyle stared at Cartman's eyes - the first time in years he had gotten a good look at them. Chocolate brown eyes. Kyle quickly broke the staring contest and glanced out of the window. There was something about his eyes...

"Hey Kyle," Kenny said. "Who would win in a fight, Wendy or Cartman?"

"I'd kick that ho's ass," Cartman bragged. "Right, Jew?"

"Uh," Kyle said, laughing a bit nervously, "I think Wendy would win."

"Think?" Stan said. "Come on dude, you know my girlfriend, she's a psychotic bitch sometimes."

"That's for sure," Kenny muttered. "Speaking of Wendy, thanks for not showing up to our usual nightly gathering last week."

Stan shrugged. "I couldn't help it, I had a date with her. You know, one of these days you'll be the one on a date and I'll be the one complaining."

"You'd only be complaining because I provide the entertainment," Kenny said.

Cartman laughed. "You're just jealous that Stan has a booty call."

"Oh so we're going there again?" Kenny asked. "Alright then. How about you, Cartman. What's your fascinating love life like? Pursuing anyone? Or, dare I ask, dating someone?"

"Like I'd tell you, poor boy," Cartman answered.

Kenny prodded more. "You still hang around Butters. Wh-"

"Oh don't fucking start," Cartman cut him off. "Butters wouldn't know the difference between a dick and a vagina if they both smacked him in the face."

Kyle stifled a laugh.

Cartman turned to him and asked, "What are you laughing at, Jew boy? Want to share some details of your love life too?"

Kenny laughed, "Oh don't get him started. He's got the biggest crush on-"

Almost instantaneously, Stan's hands flew out in an attempt to cover Kenny's mouth. Kyle lurched across the table, both arms extended towards Kenny's face. Stan and Kyle's hands met at the same moment and piled up against Kenny's lips before any more words could come out. As he realized what he was about to say, Kenny lifted his hands up and added them to the pile of paws stopping his speech.

Cartman raised an eyebrow. "The fuck?"

Confident that Kenny wasn't going to accidentally say anything damaging, Stan pried his hands loose. Kenny and Kyle removed theirs too, and Kyle returned to sitting in the booth.

Cartman looked at all of them. "What the fuck was that about? Who does the Jew have a crush on?"

"Nobody," Kyle snapped. "Kenny was just being a dick."

"Didn't look lik-" Cartman started.

"Cartman!" Kyle barked. "Forget it." He waved his hand dismissively and knocked over Cartman's soda in doing so. The cool fluid spilled over the table, flowing over the edge and onto Cartman's shirt.

"Jesus Christ, Jew! What was that for?" Cartman yelped, jumping out of the seat.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "It was a fucking accident!" He looked Cartman in the eyes again. This time they looked like he had always known them - cold, focused on hiding his internal clockwork.

"It's winter, I'm going to freeze in this shirt when I go home," Cartman griped, flopping his arms at his side.

"You are not going to freeze, fatass," Kyle hissed, the agitation leaking through his voice. But if it makes any difference, I've got an oversize shirt at home that will probably fit you. You can wear that if it'll get you to stop your whining."

Stan winced at the conflict unfolding. "It's getting late anyway, guys. We should probably head home," Stan said.

"Yeah," Kenny agreed. "Plus I've got work tomorrow."

Kyle looked at Stan, and then at Cartman. "Yeah, alright. Are we still getting together tomorrow, Stan?"

"Of course. I'll text you when I wake up tomorrow," Stan affirmed.  
>-<p>

The four of them exchanged their goodbyes in front of the diner. After Kenny and Stan had disappeared into the darkness of the night, Kyle looked at Cartman and nodded. They both began the trek to Kyle's house. Kyle's mind was preoccupied remembering Cartman's eyes. He had never really noticed their color before, and seeing an emotion from them that was positive was unusual to say the least. They had looked lighter, like he had found some solace in the world for once. Kyle tried to shove these thoughts out of his head. What the hell was he thinking? This was Cartman. He sure as hell shouldn't have been considering his eyes.

Cartman watched Kyle as they walked. The ginger's head was tilted down toward the ground. The look on his face told Cartman that he was thinking hard about something. Exactly what he was thinking about, Cartman didn't have the slightest idea. Maybe it had to do with his mystery crush. He had a burning desire to ask Kyle about that, find out who it was. Probably some dumb bitch that he had met through Kenny. The idea that Kyle could be in love with someone else made Cartman's stomach churn, threatening to expel the food he had eaten. Even though he was closer than he had been before, he felt farther from his goal than he had ever felt. Throughout all of high school, Cartman had never known Kyle to publically date someone.

When they had finally returned to the Broflovski house, Kyle broke his silence and said, "I expected you to be a lot worse tonight." He opened the door and let Cartman in.

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" Cartman asked as Kyle followed him in and shut the door.

"I guess," Kyle shrugged, removing his arm from the sleeve of his jacket. "Come on," he said after he had finally gotten the jacket off. "The shirt's upstairs."

Kyle led Cartman upstairs into the now-familiar setting of his room. He opened the closet and dove in again to seek the garment. "My mom got this for me one Hanukkah, but it was too big," he said with his head still buried in clothes. "I've only worn it a few times, but it should fit you. Ah, here it is."

He pulled a green flannel shirt out of the closet.

"Flannel?" Cartman asked, disappointed.

"I didn't say I was going to give you a world-class makeover."

Cartman snatched the shirt away and held it. "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Dude, it's a shirt. Just put it on."

Cartman swore. He really didn't want Kyle to see his body. Truthfully, it felt a little bit embarrassing. As quick as he could, he ripped his wet shirt off, tossed it to the floor, and jerked Kyle's shirt on. It was a little snug, but it would do the job. "Thanks, I guess," Cartman said.

Kyle shrugged. "No problem. Hey, I'll text you when our next lesson is."

Cartman nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." He turned and walked for the door. As he reached the frame, he stopped momentarily. "Good night, Kahl," he said, scurrying away before he could hear the boy's response.

Kyle blinked. Had he heard that right? He shook his head. "I must be more tired than I thought."


End file.
